Pitter patter, pitter patter – I love the sound of the rain gently cleansing, softly falling like tears onto the leaves, the light tapping, bouncing onto the slate patio, dripping almost imperceptibly like whispers on top of the flat roof of our enclosed sun room.

There is no better weather for me.  The cool, Southern California’s winter rains.  I am snug as a bug in a rug, as the saying goes, in my sweats, comfortably crossed- legged on my soft, fluffy, black and tan tiger-striped comforter atop my bed, books and notebooks and pens, sprawled around me.  Happy and smug as a mellow, sleepy cat. Content.

I rise and open the heavy wooden glass slider to my balcony. At once, I am enveloped and swathed by the melodic chirping of birds, layers of song and harmony, unaware of my appreciative listening, as if they were singing in the shower to themselves.  I take in the view and feast my eyes on the grey mossy, color of the day.  My favorite days are cooler, cloudier – gloomy for some, a consolation to me.

The rain washes away the grit and grime, the dust lingering in Southern California’s thick air cloaking plants and filling our lungs, I imagine.  Cleaning, clearing and satisfying the roots and leaves of golden autumn and burnt orange liquid ambars, emerald-needled California pines, ashen and papery limbed California oaks,  Australian teal, bark always-peeling eucalyptus,  and Victoria Box variety pittosporums.

The streets are cleaned, the lawns are watered.  The view expands –  longer and wider – the panorama explodes in high definition. Sometimes the rain turns to snow at higher altitudes if it gets cold enough. The San Gabriel and San Bernandino mountain ranges dusted as if by flour or heavily blanketed as if by heavy whipped cream depending on the amount of precipitation we receive.

Inevitably, like now, the sun emerges as if it was a flower bud bursting forth, clouds drift apart and open up the sky like petals unfurling and wherever you bring your gaze – it  shines and glistens.   Raindrops disguised as miniature clear Austrian crystals cling to the leaves. The carpet of our malachite colored expanse of grass is dotted with speckles of glitter caused by the sun’s vibrant reflection.  A gigantic north to south rainbow cheerfully and fully extends across the sky.

The atmosphere is crisp.  It smells like fresh linen when you first take it out of the dryer.  Or for those of us who remember, just laundered sheets drying on the clothesline.

Like human tears, purifying the soul, the rain purges and frees nature in all its abundance to grow and create and beautify the earth.

Rain.  Water.  Emotion.

Cleanse. Renew. Rebirth.